


Facade Donnesmut: The Good Morrow

by metaphoracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, unconventional uses of honey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-07
Updated: 2003-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphoracle/pseuds/metaphoracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I once promised my idol, durberville, that when she completed the next chapter of Liebestraum (her excellent 19th century 3x4 AU found on her website, Furor Scribendi, plug plug plug), that I would write her some Draco-Topping Harry Facade smut.</p>
<p>Four chapters of Liebestraum later (*grovel*), I present some long ago hinted at but never written Draco-Topping Facade Smut from chapter 10 of Facade. Beginning and ending sections are taken directly from that chapter for context.</p>
<p>Beta'd by EQ, the interlude's proper title is "The Good Morrow," after the John Donne poem that is the reason for this smutlet's existence.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Facade Donnesmut: The Good Morrow

**Author's Note:**

> I once promised my idol, durberville, that when she completed the next chapter of Liebestraum (her excellent 19th century 3x4 AU found on her website, Furor Scribendi, plug plug plug), that I would write her some Draco-Topping Harry Facade smut.
> 
> Four chapters of Liebestraum later (*grovel*), I present some long ago hinted at but never written Draco-Topping Facade Smut from chapter 10 of Facade. Beginning and ending sections are taken directly from that chapter for context.
> 
> Beta'd by EQ, the interlude's proper title is "The Good Morrow," after the John Donne poem that is the reason for this smutlet's existence.

Draco shifted in his sleep, one arm stretched possessively across Harry's chest. The move startled Harry awake and he blushed to realize that he and his lover were still intimately entangled. A cautious attempt to move made him aware of the cold liquid on his stomach and thighs. Carefully backing away so that Draco slipped out of him, he reached for the cloth kept for such occasions on the bedside table, dampening it with water poured from a porcelain ewer. His skin prickled at the chilly bath. Harry eyed the sleeping man beside him, hesitating before cleaning his companion as well, watching him shrink from his touch. Setting the cloth aside he adjusted the covers, watching the early morning light sweep across the slumbering form.

He was leaving today. It could no longer be postponed. The last week had passed in a blur for Harry. He couldn't remember ever being so happy, or satisfied, in all manners of speaking. Draco was an incredible lover, and had the good grace to not make him feel like a child in his innocence-which was quickly becoming a dim memory. The vividness of Draco encompassed everything.

The object of his musings awoke, stretching languidly, arms tightening around Harry's chest. "Must you really go today?" he murmured, the dawn light making his eyes look grey and mysterious, like clouds on the horizon, promising an impending storm. He shifted, muscles rippling beneath flawless skin. Harry could now properly appreciate the strength contained in that lithe body. Compared to the delicate form that clung so sensuously to him, he felt poorly constructed: too broad, too muscled, too flawed. He rubbed the scar on his forehead, his constant reminder of his own imperfection, and smoothed the cornsilk strands of hair from Draco's forehead, placing a reverent kiss there before nodding.

"Ron will be sending out a search party if I fail to appear at the Burrow on schedule, more than likely demanding to know what you've done with my body."

A lecherous grin appeared on Malfoy's face. "I had no idea Weasley had such a kinky side. Will you regale him with all the details and watch to see if he blushes?"

Harry smacked the blond playfully on his exposed cheek. "I meant my corpse, you scoundrel."

Draco grunted and arched a brow in amusement, rolling over onto Harry's body, hands caressing his lover's tanned skin. "I haven't done anything to your corpse. Yet."

"Yet?! What's that supposed to mean? Are you harboring necrophiliac tendencies, Draco?" Harry gaped, properly astonished.

"Mmm. I suppose necromancy would be far more appealing. Dark magic." Draco's face curved into a wicked grin as he sat back on his heels, hands moving over Harry's body in mystical patterns.

 

Brilliant green eyes regarded him intently, curiosity and amusement reflected therein. "Do you believe in that?"

"Raising the dead?" Draco shrugged as he lay bonelessly against the covers and closed his eyes.

Harry cleared his throat, breath catching with stifled emotion. "No . . . magic."

"I don't know." Draco flashed a crooked grin as his eyes opened again, surprisingly intense despite his lazy demeanor. "But I know that to spend my life with you, I would risk anything, even if it meant losing my soul." Harry blushed at the husky tenor of Draco's voice as his lover then continued softly, "Verweile doch. Du bist so schön. Dann magst du mich in Fesseln schlagen, Dann will ich gern zugrunde gehn."

The moment hung between them until Harry blinked, brow furrowing in confusion. "Pardon?"

Draco rolled his eyes before closing them once more, a much abused martyr for culture's sake. "I was quoting Goethe, you uncultured sot."

Harry frowned, shifting on the bed to prop himself up on his side as he looked down at Draco. "What does it mean?"

One blue eye opened lazily, a serene smile appearing as he lifted his hand, fingers trailing down the side of Harry's face. "Stay. You are so fair. Then may you clap me into shackles; then will I gladly go to the ground."

"Oh." Harry exhaled slowly. "I didn't realize that German could be that romantic."

Draco dropped his hand with a sigh, nearly pouting. "It's not romantic, Potter. It's desperate. Faust is being seduced by the devil."

"Oh." Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Are you equating me with the devil?"

Draco lunged forward, knocking Harry off balance and pressing the heavier man back against the sheets. "You are my captor, Harry." Harry snorted at this and struggled against Draco's grip on his wrists, watching as the blond lowered his head, tongue tracing patterns on the bare skin of Harry's chest. "I would allow you to suck my soul dry. . ." Harry drew a breath as Draco sucked on the sensitive nub of flesh ". . .even if only to imbue you with some semblance of culture." An affectionate nip on the abused nipple made Harry cry out, glaring reproachfully as Draco grinned down at him, the platinum fall of hair looking silver in the haze of dawn. "Good God, Harry, you went to university."

"I studied," Harry said defensively.

"Why do I have a feeling you studied the cricket matches and fencing more often than you studied French?" Draco released Harry's hands, raking his fingers back through the silvery locks.

"I know my French," Harry replied heatedly, becoming riled at Draco's condescension.

"En guarde and touché do not count as understanding the exquisite beauty of the French language," the elegant male drawled.

"I never could see any beauty in French. It's so inarticulate and vague compared with English," Harry countered.

Draco's head tilted slightly to the side, more in disbelief than in actual consideration for Harry's opinion. "French is a language for thinking, Harry."

"Latin is a language for thinking. And for poetry."

"Oh? Well, well. You surprise me, Harry. Which of the Roman poets strikes your fancy?"

Harry sunk into the bedsheets, keeping his face to the side as he spoke in barely audible tones. "I was always struck by Catullus' concept of love . . . as a contract. Not marriage, but love itself as a contract between two individuals. 'aeternum hoc sanctae foedus amicitiae.' It's so spiritual. . . reverent." Harry lifted his eyes to meet Draco's judgmental gaze.

"And boring," the blond said. "The Romans thought of everything as a proposition. 'This eternal compact of hallowed friendship' indeed." Draco snickered, drawing the sheet across his body in the ancient fashion. "We shall fornicate at precisely this hour. I've got to be in the Senate to hail Caeser before my nightly scheduled orgy."

As much as Harry admired how the toga flattered his lover, he did not appreciate his attempt at erudition being so cruelly mocked. Harry did not consider himself to be a gentlemen of the world, as he had not traveled to the Continent, but neither did he consider himself an uncultured sot. "Must you offend everything spiritual so freely?" he said, pinching Draco's backside in a physical revenge.

To his chagrin the blond squirmed into his touch, the smirk on his face dismissing his lover's words. "Is it not intentional? These are the Romans, Harry."

"There are plenty of other spiritualists and romantics. Not all of them are as literal minded as you."

"You think poets do not live for double entendre and innuendo? Just look at John Donne."

Harry dismissed the notion immediately, his brow furrowed. "A falsehood, I declare. He was one of the great spiritualists of the Enlightenment."

"And very, very erotic," Draco said, letting the sheet slip off his torso, revealing more of the ivory skin that inflamed Harry's senses.

Green eyes followed the progress of the sheet from Draco's collar to his thigh, his voice sounding husky to his own ears. "I don't believe you."

"Then I must prove myself, mustn't I?" Draco said with a grin. "Allow me to educate you," he purred, moving on top of Harry. Leaning down, he traced his pupil's forehead and temples with his mouth, depositing soft, wet, kisses.

Harry held his breath as Draco began to speak, hot breath against his ear in a bare whisper. "I wonder . . ." Draco's breath kissed Harry's skin before his lips ever touched, and Harry froze, watching the sensual creature that was regarding him as a large fox might regard a plump hen. As if he were going to eat Harry alive.

Draco's tongue slid down the curve of his neck, slowly, pausing where the muscle meets the shoulder. "By my troth . . ." His voice was low, seductive, and carried a weight that Harry had not thought possible with mere words. Not even his own words-Donne's words. Words Harry had heard a hundred times before.

"What thou," an actual kiss, there, where he could feel his heart beating against Draco's lips. "And I," this time Draco's hand moved down the curve of Harry's arm, capturing his wrist and pulling it close against his body. "Did, till we loved."

He turned his head to try to meet Draco's gaze. This denied, he stared at the curve of shoulder, his fingers hesitating before smoothing over it. Harry exhaled sharply as lips touched his pulse, tongue flickering across it before traveling down. "Were we not wean'd till then?"

Harry's fingers trailed upwards, unable to resist curling in the silken strands as the lips traveled down his collar and chest. ". . . but suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?" A husky drawl accompanied Draco's actions. His lips closed around the hardened nipple, pulling at it with his teeth.

The head traveled still further south, Harry thighs parting obligingly to welcome the blond between them as he lay back against the mattress. "Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?" Draco's nose rubbed against sculpted stomach muscles, causing them to tense and flutter even as Draco continued murmuring against his skin, hot breath driving him wild as he remembered what Draco did the last time he lay between Harry's legs.

"'Twas so." A kiss was placed against his inner thigh, Draco's voice slightly muffled. "But this. . ." Draco's mouth moved from his thigh to his arousal, causing Harry's hips to roll, only to be pressed back down against the bed, firmly. Draco's tongue dragged down the length of Harry's shaft, collecting the liquid on the tip before looking up at Harry's face, with a smirk. "This . . . all pleasures fancies be."

Draco held his gaze for a long moment, before he turned back to his previous task, abandoning the recitation for the moment in order to force deep groans and soft whimpers from Harry's throat.

"If ever any beauty I did see. . ." he whispered against Harry's navel, thumbs moving in maddening slow circles across the prone man's hip bones. " . . .which I desired . . ." his tongue outlined his navel, causing Harry to gasp deliciously.

". . .and got . . ." The hands captured him, Draco's voice taking a decidedly triumphant, and possessive timbre. His tongue traced wicked patterns on Harry's senses as Draco continued to speak in low, dulcet tones. "'Twas but a dream of thee."

He watched through half-lidded eyes as the blond changed position, lowering his head, to nuzzle his possession with a worshipful expression. "And now good-morrow to our waking souls." The blue eyes flickered upwards to Harry's face, meeting even as he continue to rub his face obscenely, causing Harry to harden futher. ". . .which watch not one another out of fear." Harry bit his lip as the blond tilted his chin down, his hands gathering Harry's hips closer.

"For love . . ." He kissed the skin softly, eyes closing reverently before he opened them, raising his gaze. Harry's discomfort at such prostration caused him to push on Draco's shoulders slightly, his conscience wanting him to force Draco to cease, even if that forced him to surrender his pleasure.

Draco's glare made him cease his protest with a resigned sigh. "All love," his captor said firmly, eying him warily before continuing, "of other sights controls."

Harry nodded his head submissively, pursing his lips and rising to Draco's touch, fingers ruffling his hair, one hand clenched painfully around Draco's shoulder as the blond refamiliarized Harry with one of his previous lessons, tongue eagerly lapping at tender skin. "And makes one little room . . ." His words were muffled until he lifted his head to examine his victim, panting heavily, smirking. ". . . an everywhere."

"Draco . . ." Harry began, but was silenced with a narrowed glance.

"Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone," Draco said playfully, diving back down and into the task that made Harry squirm. He was not sure if he would ever get used to the sensation of tongue and wet heat in certain areas of his body. It was almost a relief when Draco ceased, drawing his head back up to plant kisses reverently on the protrusions of his hip.

"Let maps to other worlds on worlds have shown." Draco's mouth moved from one hip to the other, up the fine trail of dark hair that led to his groin from his navel. Another soft, wet, kiss, and Draco's head lifted.

"Let us possess one world." A brow arched in silent inquiry. Harry conceded and released Draco's shoulder. The blond flashed him a grin before he reached for the lavender oil.

"Each hath one . . ." Draco proffered the vial in askance. Harry shook his head, and the blond slickened his fingers, slipping them inside his lover. "And is one."

Harry could not keep quiet as Draco prepared him-and he did not think to, even in the midst of the most unusual poetry reading Harry had ever been a part of. Draco always seemed to enjoy himself more when Harry was vocal, working tirelessly to coax soft sounds of pleasure, strained moans, and uncontrollable whines from his throat. Harry responded the only way he knew. The desire to satisfy his lover prevailed over the urge to be silent. When Draco brushed against a particular spot their eyes met again. "My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears," Draco said, slightly breathless himself, mirroring Harry's shallow, labored breathing.

Draco's free hand rose to trace Harry's cheek, his tone lustful as he regarded the male beneath him. "And true, plain hearts do in the faces rest." He smiled, his countenance as filled with affection as it was with desire. The confusion and discomfort at being the object of such tender gestures returned and Harry shifted uncomfortably, his eyes closing, when Draco brushed against that spot again.

Draco smirked and removed the fingers, moving to his knees. "Where can we find two better hemispheres?" he mused. Harry made a choked, needy sound of loss which made Draco chuckle, hands lifting Harry's hips and joining their bodies intimately.

"Without sharp north?" He strained forward, causing Harry to cry out, his hands coming up to wind themselves around Draco's neck, bringing their bodies closer, and in better alignment.

"Without declining west?" Draco's hand smoothed down the flat horizontal of Harry's stomach, even as he adjusted Harry's legs around his waist for deeper penetration. Harry shivered, his fingers stroking his lover's nape as he flexed his hips on his lap, wanting more. He heard Draco breathing raggedly above him, felt the warm chest heaving against him.

And then there were no words, as the Draco's arms slid around Harry in an embrace as their bodies moved to the natural rhythm of their desires.

At last Harry tightened against him, crying out, and relaxed, feeling the warmth of Draco's embrace and the sensation of being filled. Draco's words against his skin were quiet, whispered breaths. "Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally."

Draco was rubbing against that place within him that made him gasp and shudder, even though he was already spent. Sensation ran down his legs to his toes like the slow burning of a wick down to the wax of a candle.

"If our two loves be one," Draco said softly, "or thou and I . . ." Fingers wrapped around the oversensatized flesh pressed against his stomach as Draco continued to move within him, steadily controlling his reaction as well as Harry's ". . .love so alike . . ."

Draco halted, motionless within Harry as his grip loosened. "That none can slacken . . ."

Harry relaxed into the pulsating heat and wetness, watching Draco's face as his hips were lowered, Draco's body folded gently against his own, and Harry's last image before he closed his eyes was Draco's ironic and satisfied smile as he spoke the final words.

"None can die."

Draco kissed Harry's shoulder between calming breaths, then leaned back to study Harry's expression. His hand rose to brush damp locks of hair from his forehead, his thumb brushed lovingly against the lightning bolt shaped scar.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, acutely aware of Draco's touch. Every caress, every breath, every movement seemed to encompass his entire world as his body and mind attempted to reconcile themselves with each other, to reconcile himself. Draco had the remarkable ability to shock his senses with things foreign. Losing in a billiards game-that had been foreign. Meeting a rival for his attentions to Ginny was foreign. Romantic innuendo directed at him was foreign. Being insulted in polite company was foreign. Erotic exploration of another male's body was foreign. And, now, being made acutely aware of how sensual spiritual poetry could be. Not for the first time he marveled at the way Draco had affected him so greatly in the past two weeks of constant contact, and wondered whether he and Draco would be able to do as Sirius and Remus had done, and become devoted companions to one another for years without recess.

A pleasurable stroking behind his ears made him blink and his gaze focused, flickering upwards to see Draco smiling at him, a question in the blue eyes.

He smiled back, his voice husky with emotion as he spoke. "You know, I studied that poem at university."

Draco shifted beside him, his skin creating friction as it rubbed against his own. "Did your professor demonstrate this particular interpretation in class?"

Harry laughed, his hands sliding down the blond's shoulders in a lingering caress. "I can't say I've ever heard Donne interpreted so . . ." Without his wanting it, he was becoming aroused again. Was this affliction ever to be conquered? Would he ever be able to think of Draco as anything but a sexual being? He changed what he was going to say mid-sentence. ". . .was the poem really intended in that way? Or are you just making it sexual?"

Draco kissed his lips softly, tracing his cheek in a purely affectionate and indulgent manner. "I recited the text verbatim." His usual smirk returned to grace his features as Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Well . . . using action in place of imagination illustrates the sexual nature of the text perhaps a little more clearly."

"Perhaps . . . a very little," Harry admitted grudgingly, "or perhaps I was right and you have this urge to defile all that is holy. I always thought that poem to be about a man's struggle between earthly love for his lover and spiritual love for his god."

"I don't consider it a defilement to see how the practical relates to the spiritual. Not everything is as ideal as the poet may have you think. You should know that more than anyone, Harry."

~_~_~

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Yeah. At least I got it out? It's the thought that counts? My intentions were good?
> 
> Going to hide now, while I work on the other smut piece I owe Lorena. The woman is a slave driver. But maybe after reading the above she'll ~~come to her senses~~ realize that it's not worth it, getting smut from me.


End file.
